


15 Percent

by labellelunaclaire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Blending, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Canonical Character Death, POV Minor Character, POV Third Person, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellelunaclaire/pseuds/labellelunaclaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavender Brown sustained gruesome and life-threatening injuries fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts. She was initially given a 15 percent chance of surviving, and even when she beats the odds and pulls through, she's heavily scarred both physically and mentally. It's only through a series of helping hands that she begins to pull herself out of her own anguish and depression and learns to see the beauty in herself, finds love, and learns to live again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 15 Percent

**Author's Note:**

> I've always liked Lavender Brown, even though she's generally disliked by most people. I always hoped she survived the war and made something great out of her life, even though I think she would have struggled in the beginning. I think that she would end up having a large network of friends that would help her, and that she would even find someone to love her despite her scars.

Lights. That’s all she could see. Flashes of brightly colored lights broken only by sudden darknesses.

Muffled noises occasionally met her ears. Once or twice, a high pitched note that vaguely registered as a scream.

Pain and numbness fought for dominance in her body. The excruciating pain searing in the gashes on her face and neck. The inability to feel anything at all. She didn’t know which was better.

Once or twice, she felt someone tilt her head forward and tip something into her mouth. At some point, someone in better shape than herself tried to clean and bandage her wounds. All the while, battle raged on throughout the school.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Lavender Brown had very few thoughts running through her head, though one seemed to stick with her: _If I die, I hope we win. I don’t want to die for nothing_.

She was so far gone by the time the fighting ended that she didn’t even know that they _had_ won.

The only thing she can remember from during her last brief bout of consciousness was a muddled voice – one that sounded _so_ familiar, but she couldn’t place, though she knew that she had spent a great deal of time hearing it before – asking, “What are her chances of surviving?”

After several long, long seconds, another voice, an older one, filled with years of wisdom and experience answered.

“15 percent.”

And then Lavender slipped away, back into the blackness, where the number 15 haunted her until her mind was so blank that not even that bleak number could penetrate.


	2. Proving Them Wrong

It might have been seconds.

Or minutes. Or hours. Or days, weeks, months or years.

It could have been any amount of time before she left the little _tug_.

It was so small, that at first it seemed that nothing had changed. Everything was still black. The silence was still the same harsh, unnatural silence that could never reasonably exist in the world. Her body still had the same strange feeling like it was floating through space. And yet, there was _something_ different. Like… she was beginning to _feel_ her body as it floated, in a way that she couldn’t distinguish the space her body took up from the unimaginable stretch of darkness that surrounded her.

And then she felt the tug grow stronger. With nearly insurmountable effort, Lavender focused. She used every ounce of energy she could scrap from her body and mind and focused on searching her entire body for the tug. She sent down, into her neck and shoulders, forcing herself to feel them, and through the darkness, she felt a small stab of pain. Good. Pain was good. Pain meant that she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t feel. That pain anchored her. She knew where her shoulders were again.

So she sent herself a little lower, to her chest and abdomen, where she could feel a vague, rhythmic pounding and a nearly rhythmic rise and fall. Her heart was working. Her lungs were working. She worked her way down to her legs, struggling to feel the stiff muscles that told her she had been asleep for longer than she’d ever slept before. Then she made her way to her arms and hands, and she finally found the tugging.

Someone was holding her hand, and the tugging came from when they shifted their position, even just slightly.

Lavender wanted to search some more, to find the strength to open her eyes or say something to whoever was by her bedside, but that would have to wait. She was too tired to do any more right then.

But she knew, she _knew_ that she was going to wake up that she was going to wake up eventually. The healer had given her a 15 percent chance of survival. She was going to prove them wrong.


	3. Wounds

The next time Lavender began to rouse, she didn’t have to search for the pain to feel it. It was there. Oh, it was there. Something was attempting to cover it up, hide it a little, but she could still feel it. The unnatural heat in her face and neck and shoulder and the subtle tingle was a slow torture, and unlike before, when she took the pain as a sign that she was still alive, _this_ pain was too much. A small moan escaped her lips.

“Lavender?” a faraway voice asked, getting closer as she pulled herself back to the world of the living. Her eyes fluttered open for the splittest of seconds before she was forced to close them again because of the bright, blinding light over her head.

“Lavender? Lavender?” the voice repeated frantically. “Oh my god, she’s waking up! Everyone, she’s opening her eyes! Lavender!”

There was a shuffle and more voices joined in, muttering things she couldn’t understand.

Someone shushed the group and all of the voices fell silent, waiting.

“Lavender?” someone asked carefully. “Lav, can you hear me?”

It took several long second before Lavender could properly place the name through her muddled mind and force herself to speak.

“Par… va… ti?” she staggered out, each syllable on its own puff of breath as she struggled to regain her ability to speak. Her throat and mouth were horribly dry and her lips felt cracked.

There was a ripple of excited chatter before someone shushed the group again.

“Light,” Lavender said weakly.

“Light?” Parvati asked.

“Too… bright.”

“Someone turn the lights down,” Parvati demanded, and the lights immediately dimmed behind her lids.

Carefully, tenderly, Lavender opened her eyes to see seven face crowded around her bed.

“Are you all here for me?” she asked with a weak smile.

Everyone burst into laughter.

“We’re just the ones here right now, Lavy,” Padma told her. “There have been at least fifteen different people in and out of here, waiting for you to wake up. There would be more, but there are still a few people who are just as bad as you.”

“Yeah,” Dean Thomas said from the chair he was sitting in. He was wearing a night robe and hospital gown. “They still don’t want to let me go. They said they won’t release me until I’m done with my round of potions. At least they’ve allowed me to move around and see how everyone else in doing.”

Lavender stayed silent, soaking everything in.

“So…” she started, not knowing exactly how to voice her question. “So… we _won_ … right?” Surely, none of them would be alive if they’d lost. Would they?

Everyone laughed silver, almost drunken laughs. She hadn’t heard such laughter in a long time. Not since before Dumbledore died and her entire world was turn upside down.

“Yeah, Lavender,” Seamus Finnigan said, looking like her might be near tears. “We _won_.”

Lavender started laughing and crying, almost unable to believe that they’d actually done it.

“I remember,” she said, struggling to recall the vague, dim memory. “I remember thinking… that I hoped we won, because… I didn’t want to die for nothing.” She looked at the people around her – Padma, Parvati, Dean, Seamus, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, and Hannah Abbott – her friends who loved her and remembered something else.

“How many… how many people… didn’t –”

She stopped, afraid of what they would tell her.

The laughter ended and dark looks came over everyone’s faces.

“Over fifty,” Ernie said when it seemed no one else would.

Fifty.

There were normally only about two hundred and eighty students and two dozen staff members. A portion of those students were gone, forced into hiding for being Muggle-borns. Most of the seventh years and available sixth years stayed to fight, not to mention those who weren’t of age who snuck back in. Of course, there were plenty of Order members who fought, and former students, town members, and Aurors, but somehow, Lavender knew that not all of her classmates had walked away from the fighting.

“Who?” she asked quietly, closing her eyes against the tears. She was afraid of the names she might hear. How many would she know?

“Lavender, I don’t think you should be thinking about this right now,” Hannah told her softly. “You’re still really sick. You need time to heal.”

“Tell me,” Lavender insisted. “I _have_ to know. I _need_ to know.”

Hannah sighed and Lavender held her breath, waiting.

“Professor Lupin,” she said, and Lavender’s heart fell. Everyone loved Professor Lupin. He had always been the best DADA teacher. He was everyone’s favourite. “And his wife,” she continued. “She was one of the Aurors stationed on the grounds last year.”

“They’d just had a baby,” Dean added sadly. “Tonks… she wasn’t even supposed to be there. She was supposed to be taking care of their son. But she couldn’t leave Lupin to fight without her.”

“Who else?”

“Colin Creevey and Nigel Wolpert,” Hannah said. “They both snuck back in.”

She fell silent, either unwilling or unable to continue. They’d all known Colin and Nigel from DA meetings. They were both so young. Colin was sixteen. Nigel was fourteen.

“Alice Tolipan and Anthony Goldstein, too,” Seamus told her.

Susan, who looked like she was about to burst into tears any second, took up where Seamus left off. “And Just…” she started, her voice hitching. “Justin. He didn’t… he didn’t… make it.” She began to sob, tears streaming down her face, and Hannah wrapped her arms around her, trying to console her while tears fell from her own eyes. Susan had been especially close to Justin.

Lavender felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut. She closed her eyes once more, her body shaking painfully with her own, quiet crying. She had known Justin well from years of classes and DA. Everyone knew why he couldn’t return to Hogwarts for his final year. He was a Muggle-born, and as one of the Basilisk victims during their second year, there wasn’t even a chance to fake his blood status as others did. He was forced into hiding. He’d sent a coded message by owl to everyone saying he had left to country, but to warn him if something happened. Lavender remembered seeing him before the battle, but didn’t get a chance to properly greet him. Now, she’d never get the chance.

“I talked to him,” Ernie said distantly, staring at nothing, looking far, far away. “He’d been in France. He convinced his parents to move there, change their names; start over. He got in contact with Madame Maxime, and she let him and a few other Muggle-borns study in secret at Beauxbatons. He kept his DA coin with him at all times. He even slept with it tied to his wrist so he would feel it if we called.”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I feel like we killed him,” he said. “I know we didn’t, but… it’s hard. He was my best mate.”

“Justin was a good person,” Dean said. “He was one of the hardest workers in our year. I mean, most of the Muggle-borns went into hiding, pretending to be Muggles. He chose to risk his life to continue his education. That takes guts.”

Lavender couldn’t take any more talk of Justin. It was too much. Justin was her friend. She had classes with him and DA and study groups in the library. He was always so full of life, and now he was gone. In the blink of an eye, never to return. And she never even got to stay goodbye.

“Who else?” she asked through her tears.

It was Seamus’s turn to answer her hard, hard question.

“Fred Weasley,” he said flatly, as if he was trying to distance himself from the name.

It felt like a blow to the heart, even more so than Justin. Not _Fred_. Fred, the amazing trickster who was loved by one and all. Fred, who helped make Umbridge’s stay at Hogwarts as unbearable as possible. Fred, the older brother of her ex-boyfriend…

“Oh, god,” Lavender moaned. “ _George_. Poor George.”

Parvati and Padma held each other close.

“I can’t imagine what he’s going through,” Padma whispered. “If Parvati… I can’t imagine what I’d do if I lost Parvati.”

Parvati shook her head. “It’s a bond that’s not supposed to be broken,” Parvati added, heartbroken. “Twins are together from the time they’re in the womb for the rest of their lives. Living while your twin died… it’s unbearable to even think about it.”

“I heard that George hasn’t been to the shop or his apartment since,” Ernie said. “He’s been staying back at their family home. Ron’s been trying to hold it together for everyone else, but you can tell it’s killing him inside.”

“You’ve seen him?” Lavender asked.

“Yeah,” Ernie said. “He, Harry, and Hermione have popped in a couple of times since the war ended.”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. Something had dawned on her. She still had no idea how long she’d been asleep, and her memories from battle were hazy, filled with gaping holes of black spaces where she could remember nothing at all.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

“Five days,” Seamus told her. “We’ve all been really worried that you weren’t going to wake up.”

Five days. That wasn’t _too_ bad. It could have been a lot worse, she supposed. She could have died.

“What happened to me? Did someone curse me?” She lifted her hand sluggishly, like it was filled with lead, to her face, where she left a long bandage running most of the length of her left cheek. “When did my face get cut up?” She let her hand fall to her chest, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

“Ouch!” she cried as pain radiated through her body. She struggled to lift her head, grateful for Parvati when she helped support her. Lavender looked down at her body in shock and confusion.

Her chest and left shoulder were covered in bandages that seemed to continue onto her neck. Panic started to set in.

“What happened?” she begged, nearly hysterical. “When did I – ? I can’t… I can’t… Oh my god, what’s wrong with me?!”

“Lavender, calm down,” Padma said sternly. “You’re okay. You need to calm down. You don’t want to open up your wounds again.”

Lavender nodded, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths.

“Good,” Padma said. “You’re safe, Lav. You’re okay.”

“Please, tell me,” Lavender said. “I swear, I can handle it.”

Padma looked skeptical, but Parvati decided it was her turn to speak.

“Lavender, you were attached,” she said cautiously, gauging Lavender’s response. “By… by Fenrir Greyback.”

“I was… attached… by a werewolf?” Lavender stuttered.

“He wasn’t transformed,” Ernie added quickly. “So you won’t… _become_ a werewolf.”

“I want to see,” Lavender said, as strongly as she could.

“See what?” Padma asked.

“My wounds,” she said. “I want to see them. Help me up.”

She tried to prop herself up on her elbows, and Hannah and Seamus rearranged the pillows behind her, allowing her to sit up for the first time in five days.

“I’ll go get a healer,” Susan said, wiping her eyes from the last of the tears.

She dashed from the room to grab one of the healers while everyone else exchanged nervous looks.

“Lavender, are you sure you want to do this?” Hannah asked. “It’s not… it’s not pretty.”

One of the reasons Lavender loved Hannah so much was her honesty, but those were not the words that she wanted to hear just then.

The door to the hospital room opened again, and Susan and a woman in healers’ robes walked in.

The healer, a blond woman in her thirties, smiled warmly at Lavender. “Well, Miss Brown,” she said cheerfully, looking at a clipboard hanging at the foot of the bed. “It’s very good to see those beautiful eyes open at last. I’m Healer Bethany Jones. Susan tells me that you’d like to see your injuries?”

“Yes,” Lavender said. “I would.”

Healer Jones nodded and began to carefully remove the bandages. Lavender stared straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone, thought everyone tried to catch her eye.

“Okay,” Healer Jones said. “Someone grab the mirror.”

Seamus nodded curtly and went into the bathroom connected to the room, returning with a mirror and holding it up.

Lavender took in a sharp, shocked breath. The girl in the reflection was not her. Not even close.

Angry red marks marred her neck and shoulder, half healing, half open, fresh, red blood shimmering within the torn flesh. Three long marks ran from her cheekbone to jaw, equally as ugly. She was not Lavender, the girl in the mirror. She was a monster with the terrified eyes of the happy, healthy, _pretty_ girl she used to be.

She turned her face from the mirror, eyes closed tight, as if her rejection of the image would make it untrue. “Take it away,” she whispered. “Please, just take it away.”

A light hand brushed her good shoulder. “It’s okay, Lavender,” Dean said softly. “You’re okay.”

Lavender shook her head, tears streaking down her face. “I need to be alone,” she told them. “I just… I need some time to think.”

Her friends nodded sadly and began to retreat from the room, giving her their well wishes and telling her they were happy she awake.

“Sorry,” Seamus murmured as he helped Dean to his feet. “Feel better, Lav.”

Lavender nodded, unable to bring herself to respond further.

Healer Jones bandaged her wounds again and summoned a few different potions, which Lavender took without question, and then left, telling her to call if she needed anything, leaving Lavender alone in her darkened room.

Life after the war was not what Lavender had expected it to be.


	4. The Funeral

“Please,” Lavender begged. “I need to go. They were my  _friends_.”

It was May 9th. The funerals of the fallen had been going on since the day after the war, staggered out for those who wanted to attend. Lavender had already missed most of the services. But Justin and Fred’s funerals were to be held today, seven days after their deaths.

“Lavender, you’re still extremely weak. You just woke up two days ago. I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Healer Jones said.

But Lavender could hear in her voice that she was going to cave in. Dean had managed to make it to nine funerals so far, and plenty of others had begged and pleaded their ways to the funerals of loved ones. There was no way that she was going to miss these two.

“I’ve already missed Colin’s funeral, and Nigel’s, and Professor Lupin’s, and Alice’s, and Anthony’s! I  _can’t_  miss Justin and Fred’s. I  _can’t_.”

Healer Jones sighed, just as Lavender expected her to. “Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure we can Apparate you to the funerals and back before you have to take your potions and change your bandages.”

“Thank you, Healer Jones,” Lavender said sincerely.

Healer Jones nodded and left the room, probably to tell whoever was in charge of the ward that they had yet  _another_  patient wanting to go to a funeral.

Lavender sighed once she was alone. She had tried to be alone as much as possible for the past two days. The more she thought about her wounds the more she realized that they would never heal in a way that would be satisfactory to her. The marks were deep, dark black-red from congealed blood in the center, with angry, puckered red scars already beginning to form around the edges. She would  _always_  have scars from that day.

She knew it was petty, but she just felt…  _ugly_. She was always the pretty one, not that she’d ever say anything about it out loud. She really didn’t want to go out in public, but she knew she could never forgive herself for missing anymore funerals.

While she waited for Healer Jones to come back for her, Lavender checked all of her bandaged, making sure her wounds were covered completely. She was nervous about seeing other people outside of the hospital. She had tried to avoid people at all cost. There had been a few times when she’d pretended to be sleeping just so she could avoid human contact.

At least at Fred’s funeral, there were bound to be others in similar situations as hers. It was no secret there, what had gone on. Justin’s was a different story. He was Muggle-born, and so his entire family consisted of people who didn’t know what had happened. Very few witches and wizards would be attending his service. Lavender had been very lucky that Ernie had convinced Justin’s parents – the only ones who knew how he’d really died – to let her go, too. She and Justin had never been particularly close, but she had known him, and considered him a friend. His death hurt her deeply, especially knowing that he had been the last on their side to die.

She sighed again, pushing herself up from her bed and walking to the bathroom, ignoring the mirror and grabbed the black dress that was hanging on a hook, brought to her by her mother so that she could have something to wear to the funerals. She changed into it, grateful for its high neckline and cap sleeves which hid a good portion of her bandages. From behind the dark fabric, you couldn’t even tell that there was any damage done to her shoulder, where the worst of the wounds were. That bastard had started  _eating_  her flesh while she lay on the ground, slowly dying. She was glad that she couldn’t remember much about that night.

There was no hiding the soft white dressings on her face or neck, but it was easy to imagine that the places they concealed were nothing more than scrapes. She’d seen plenty of people at Hogwarts sporting worse bandages after a spell gone wrong or taking a spill on the Quidditch pitch. Harry’d had his fair share of injuries over the years. If only her scars could heal like his always did.

With gentle hands, Lavender fingered a choker of pearls. They were pretty and elegant. She didn’t usually wear such jewelry. She wished she didn’t have a reason to wear them. She fastened the necklace around her neck, secretly hoping that they might draw attention away from the bandages there. She carefully pulled on her tights, trying not to pull at the wounds too much – the last thing she wanted was to start bleeding through the gauze again and force the healer to revoke her funeral-going rights – and slipped her feet into a pair of black flats before returning to her room to wait for Healer Jones.

“Well, Miss Lavender,” Healer Jones said, coming through the doorway with a clipboard in her hands. “You have officially been cleared for a day away from the hospital under healer care with the strict understanding that, should anything happen to compromise your healing, you are to return to St. Mungo’s immediately. Understand?”

Lavender nodded obediently, and Healer Jones smiled.

“Alright then,” she said, pulling her wand from her cloak and transforming her hospital uniform to an ensemble similar to Lavender’s. She held out her arm for Lavender to hold on to. “Time to get on our way.”

**OoOoO**

Justin’s funeral was first, planned for exactly eleven a.m. at the Finch-Fletchley’s family church. It was a grand and imposing looking building that looked to be at least a couple hundred years old. It was a beautiful and devastating sight. Her friend would never leave the shadow of this cathedral.

The sudden weight of Justin’s loss had Lavender’s breath hitching with threatened tears.

“Are you okay?” Healer Jones asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Lavender nodded. She had to see this through.

People were already filing into the sanctuary, all dressed in clothes far nicer than the ones Lavender wore. She felt self-conscious enough about her injuries, but now she had to worry about being underdressed. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, following the flow into the church. She was overwhelmed by the vast room, filled with so many people that she couldn’t get an accurate gauge on the number. It was nowhere near the size of the Great Hall, but that didn’t stop her from making the connection between the two, didn’t stop her from getting the sudden flash of memories from the battle where she had almost lost her life, and where Justin had lost his. And now, in the front of this large room that reminded her of the worst night of her entire life, between a display of flowers and pictures, was the ornate wooden box that held the body of her friend. Lavender’s head swooned, and she felt dizzy.

Healer Jones, sensing Lavender’s anxiety, pulled her into one of nearest pews, very close to the back of the sanctuary, far away from everyone else.

“You don’t have to do this, Lavender,” she whispered. “We can leave right now. No one will think poorly of you.”

“No,” Lavender murmured back, her tears already beginning to fall. “No, I have to… Justin… he… Fred… I… I _have_ to.”

Healer Jones placed a gentle hand on Lavender’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles in hopes of calming her.

“Lavender,” a quiet voice murmured, and Lavender looked up to see Ernie, who was dressed in a dark suit. He looked numb, subdued, like there was very little keeping him together. “It’s good to see you up and moving.”

Lavender wiped her eyes carefully, and nodded. “Yeah,” she sniffed. “I just wish… I wish it was… for a better reason.”

Ernie stared off, biting his bottom lip. His eyes began to mist, but he didn’t let a single tear fall. “Yeah,” he said, a roughness to his voice that Lavender wasn’t used to. “I think we all do.” He rested a hand on her shoulder for a second. “I’ve got to go sit in the front with Mr. and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley. I’ll see you later, Lav.”

He walked away, and Lavender’s gaze followed him all the way to the front of the large room where, in the front row, a man consoled a weeping woman. Those were Justin’s parents. Lavender had never seen them before. She knew very little about them, besides the few things she had picked up about them from Justin: they were rich, well-educated, and had no other children besides Justin, who, despite their shock at discovering he was a wizard, was the light of their life. Watching Mrs. Finch-Fletchley sobbing, knowing that she would never see her son – her only child – ever again, broke Lavender’s heart into a million little pieces.

She had to look away. If she didn’t, she couldn’t stay for the whole service. She had to find something else to occupy her mind. So Lavender looked around the church, searching for familiar faces in the crowd.

Sitting next to Mr. Finch-Fletchley was Ernie, and beside him, Hannah and Susan. This made sense to her. They had been best friends, after all. Susan and Justin had even started to become… more than friends.

Behind them was a group of five teenagers, Leanne Spinks, Luca Caruso, Geoffrey Hooper, Owen Caudwell, and Ritchie Coote. Leanne, Luca, Geoffrey, Owen, and Justin had spent the last year in France together, earning them the name “the Hogwarts five”. Now, with Justin gone, they were just four renegades come home at last. Ritchie looked conflicted, though highly respectful. He was the boy Justin had died saving. His life was spared while Justin’s was ended. If Justin had been a lesser person, this might have been his funeral.

Across the aisle, Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall sat together, speaking quietly to each other. It was obvious that someone had helped them choose their clothing. Their dresses were both a little outdated, but blended in well enough, all things considered. McGonagall wore a black Muggle fascinator in lieu of her usual pointed hat and Professor Sprout had managed to tame her usually unruly curls into an elegant bun free of the twigs and dirt that always seemed permanent for the Herbology professor.

In the center of the church, sitting alone with his head hung, was Harry Potter, looking horribly worn, even in his impeccable suit. Lavender wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d just come from another funeral. She’d heard from some of the more chatty healers that he’d committed himself to go to every funeral possible.

Lavender stared at the familiar faces, eleven in all. Including Justin’s parents, herself, and Healer Jones, only fifteen people knew the truth about how Justin lived and died. Fifteen out of all the people – over a hundred and fifty, for sure – who realized how Justin had given up his life to save a classmate. It seemed wrong.

The priest stood up then and the service started, exactly on time. Lavender only heard bits and pieces of what he said. It didn’t seem that important. It’s not like he really knew Justin. With a church this size, and with Justin gone most of the year, it was unlikely that he’d spent a lot of time talking to him, and even if he had, he didn’t know the truth.

After the priest spoke, members of Justin’s family took turns sharing stories from his youth, of how bright and talented he was, how he would always sit and play the piano at family gatherings, how he was so full of life, and how the world would be a little bit darker without him. His mother attempted to speak, but was too overcome with emotion to utter a single coherent word. His father escorted her back to her seat after murmuring in a muted tone, “Justin was the light of my life. I will never hold my boy again.”

Lavender cried silently through each speech, her heart aching and yearning for her fallen friend. She regretted not spending more time with Justin when he was alive. She would never get a chance to make that right.

And then, to Lavender’s surprise, Ernie stood after all the Finch-Fletchley’s had spoken their peace.

He looked so nervous, very unlike himself. Normally, Ernie radiated confidence, always speaking up when he had something to say. But though he had things to say, he didn’t want to be saying them. She understood. She didn’t want to hear him say these things, either.

“I met Justin seven years ago, on the train to school,” Ernie began, his voice rougher than usual, trying to hold back tears. “We sat in the same compartment, and we later learned that we would be staying in the same dorm together. We were both…” he took in a breath to steady himself. “We were both nervous, but excited, to be starting at such a prestigious school. We just wanted to make our families proud.”

Ernie paused, closing his eyes for a moment, wiping away the tears that started to fall. “Justin was so… _passionate_ about learning. He put everything he had into his studies, and even though he couldn’t always beat get the highest marks or the best scores, he never, _ever_ gave up. He _always_ kept trying. He _cared_ so much for everyone in his life. He was… he was such an inspiration… an inspiration… to me…” Choked sobs broke through his speech, and Ernie bowed his head, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

He stayed like that for a long moment before gathering his thoughts once more and continuing his speech, tears flowing freely from his eyes, making no attempts to wipe them away.

“Justin was like a brother to me. He was the best person I have ever met. He’s probably the best person I’ll ever _meet_. And the fact that I never got the chance to _tell_ him that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Lavender’s heart was pounding. Tears poured down her face, soaking her bandages. Her breath caught in her throat. It didn’t feel like there was any oxygen around her. This was all too much. She needed to leave, to get away, to go back to the hospital and lock herself away from the world. How could she have possibly thought she could make it through two funerals? She couldn’t even make it through the one.

“Lavender?”

Healer Jones’s whispered voice brought her back to herself. She hadn’t even realized that she’d stood up.

“I can’t do this,” Lavender gasped. “I can’t. I have to… I have to leave. I have to go back to the hospital. _Now_.”

And with that she bolted for the door, wishing that she hadn’t be allowed to go to the funeral at all.


	5. A New Roommate

Lavender refused to see any of her friends after the funerals, though Hannah, Parvati, and Seamus all stopped by to see how she was doing. She was ashamed of herself for leaving the funeral before it was over. She was ashamed for not going to Fred Weasley’s funeral like she’d said she would. She was ashamed for how she looked and how she felt and how she secretly wished she had died in the war that had taken so many. Surely she didn’t _deserve_ to live.

The only people Lavender saw over the next two days were the healers who regularly came in to give her potions and check on the healing of her wounds, which was slow and painful. The deep gouges in her chest and shoulder itched horribly and the thick scabs forming over them were prone to opening if she moved her arm or neck too much.

But she _was_ healing, and two days after Justin’s funeral, Healer Jones gave Lavender some shocking news.

“You’re _moving_ me?!” Lavender nearly shouted. “I can’t be _moved_! I need to stay here!”

Healer Jones, patient as ever, remained calm, putting on her most soothing expression and speaking in her smoothest, most relaxing voice.

“Lavender, your wounds are healing. There’s no need for you to stay in this ward anymore, now that the danger has passed. We need this room for some of our more severely injured patients. There are people who are still getting worse.”

“Then send me home!” she snapped, knowing full well that she sounded like a spoiled brat. She was throwing a tantrum and she knew it, but only a very small part of her really cared.

Healer Jones sighed. “Lavender, you’re not ready to go home yet. Not physically, and definitely not mentally. It’ll do you good to be in another ward where you’re less isolated. You haven’t seen anyone other than the healers in days. You haven’t even seen your _parents_. Being in a new room with another patient on a different floor will be good for you.”

“But I don’t _want_ a roommate,” she cried. “I don’t want to leave! Just let me stay here until I die so I never have to see anyone again!”

She fell into hysterics, her breathing hitching, her face turning bright red. Healer Jones rushed to her aid, wrapping her arms around the crying girl, rubbing her back soothingly.

“Can I get a calming draught?” she called, looking in the direction of the door, where just a moment later a young, frazzled-looking orderly came rushing in with a vial of potion, which she handed to the healer before quickly disappearing once more.

“Here, Lavender,” Healer Jones coaxed gently, moving the mouth of the vial to Lavender’s lips. “This will make you feel better.”

The healer carefully forced the inconsolable girl’s head back, tipping the contents of the vial into her mouth. Lavender gasped and swallowed out of instinct, and within seconds began to feel the potion’s calming affects. Her tears stopped, her breathing evened, her heart rate slowed, and her face slowly lost its red ting.

“See?” Healer Jones said, sitting on the edge of Lavender’s bed. “You’re okay. There’s no reason to get so worked up.”

“I just…” Lavender murmured numbly, feeling the calming draught take more and more control by the second. “I just don’t want to be a freak. I don’t want to be looked at like a monster.”

Healer Jones sighed and took Lavender’s hand. “Nobody thinks you’re a freak, Lavender. You’re a war hero. You fought for our freedom and you helped us win. Anyone who thinks that you’re a monster or a freak is _wrong_. I’ve already spoken to the girl you’ll be staying with. She knows your condition and she doesn’t care. She’s a very sweet girl. I think that you two will get along well.”

Lavender nodded absently. She really didn’t have much of a choice. She would have to move rooms and have a roommate. She just hoped that this new roommate was a “sweet” as Healer Jones claimed she was.

**OoOoO**

“This is it,” Healer Jones said as she came to a stop in front of room 126 with Lavender in a wheelchair. “This is where you’ll stay until you’re discharged.”

Lavender had been staying on the second floor, which was normally reserved for Magical Bugs and Diseases. It and the first floor – normally housing those with creature-caused injuries – had been completely taken over by the victims of war. Those with the more life-threatening injuries were on the second floor while those with more minor injuries were on the first floor.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Lavender muttered. She didn’t want to be staying in this room any more than she had an hour ago, but she had lost that battle.

Healer Jones smiled. “It’s going to be _fine_ , Lavender. You just have to have a positive attitude.” And with that, she opened the door and wheeled Lavender into her new room.

She held her breath as she crossed the threshold, prepared for anything that might happen. She still didn’t trust that anyone could possibly look at her with anything less than disgust and fear.

The room was nearly the same as the one she’d been in on the second floor, except that it was larger to accommodate two of everything – hospital bed, dresser table, and chairs – and had a track running down the center with a curtain that could be drawn closed to give each patient their privacy when needed. The side closest to the door was empty and obviously unoccupied, but the side closest to the window held personal effects and get-well presents, and lounging on the bed, thumbing through a magazine, was a small girl with straight, dark hair.

“Astoria?” Healer Jones asked, stopping a few feet into the room.

The girl looked up, her eyes excited. She leapt to her feet, tossing her magazine aside and rushed over to Lavender and the healer.

“Hi!” she said. “I’m Astoria Greengrass! You must be Lavender Brown. It’s really nice to meet you.”

She held out her hand for Lavender to shake, but before she could take it, Astoria’s body seemed to seize up, muscles twitching erratically. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clamped together. But then, as quickly as it started, the tremors stopped, and after a deep breath, the smile returned to her face and she held her hand out once more, which Lavender took very hesitantly.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized. “That happens. It’s been getting a lot better. My heart hasn’t been stopping anymore, but the healers say I still have a long way to go before I can leave. Still, it’s really good to meet you!”

“It’s good to meet you, too,” Lavender replied, a little dazed. What kind of spell had this little girl been hit by that could cause her heart to stop?

“Astoria, you should be laying down,” Healer Jones chided. “You know that jumping around like that triggers episodes. You need to be taking it easy.”

Astoria’s shoulders hunched forward and she hung her head. “I know, Healer. I’m just really tired of being stuck in bed.” Her shoulders twitched again, though not as bad as before. She grumbled a little and went back to sit on the edge of her bed while Healer Jones helped Lavender get situated on her own bed.

“Alright, girls,” Healer Jones said once Lavender was settled in. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted and be back later to check in on you.”

Lavender nodded and watched the healer turn and walk out the door, leaving the two teens alone. It was strange. It didn’t feel right. Lavender’s face felt hot and she was nervous and self-conscious. She did everything she could not to look in Astoria’s direction.

“So, Lavender,” Astoria started, perhaps realizing that if she wanted a conversation she would have to be the one to instigate it. “What are you in for?”

It was a silly question. It was pretty obvious why she was in the hospital, and Healer Jones had already admitted to telling the younger girl what had happened.

“I, er, was attacked,” Lavender stammered. “By, er, a… a werewolf.”

She turned her head just enough to see Astoria out of the corner of her eye, gaging her reaction. But she was surprised. Astoria’s face didn’t hold fear or disgust or hatred. It simply held sympathy. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Lavender muttered, thinking about how _sucks_ didn’t even begin to describe how it felt. “What are you, er, _in for_?” she asked in return. “I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you around school. How old are you?”

Astoria laughed, and another series of spasms wracked her body. “I wouldn’t really expect you to have seen me much. I’m only fifteen, so I’m two years behind you. Plus, I’m a Slytherin, and I’m guessing you don’t hang around people from my House much.”

Shock ran through Lavender’s head. “You’re a _Slytherin_?!” How could this sweet, energetic girl be from _Slytherin_?

The tiny brunette laughed again. “People always find that so hard to believe. But I’m ambitious and cunning when I need to be. Not everyone in Slytherin is evil.”

“I didn’t mean–” Lavender began, but she stopped. Didn’t mean _what_ , exactly? Didn’t mean to insinuate that everyone in Slytherin was evil? But wasn’t that exactly what she’d grown up believing? That was _exactly_ what she’d meant. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” Astoria smiled. “It’s not exactly your fault. Everyone’s helped to perpetuate the stereotype for a long time. I’m used to it by now.”

“So why are you in the hospital?” Lavender pushed, curious as to how a fifteen year old Slytherin girl ended up at Saint Mungo’s with such horrible symptoms.

Astoria shrugged, her body freezing with another muscular contraction for a second before stopping once more. “I snuck back into the castle to fight and took a spell for one of my classmates. I was lucky, really. The spell only grazed me. It hit a Death Eater standing behind me straight on. He died instantly. I’m pretty sure he was one of my dorm mates’ uncles, but I’m not sure. Not that it matters. He got what he deserved.”

“I thought that all the Slytherins left. None of them wanted to fight.” Left unsaid was a slight accusation that stemmed from years of learned prejudices – _I thought all Slytherins sided with You-Know-Who_.

“Most everyone did,” she agreed. “There were many in my House who believed in what the Dark Lord said. There were also a lot of us who disagreed as well. But everyone was scared. No one wanted to face a friend or family member in battle.”

“So why did you?” It seemed to Lavender that Astoria had everything to lose and nothing to gain by sneaking back into the school to fight.

The young girl paused for a moment, starting off into space as if trying to find the exact right words to make Lavender understand. It was so hard to believe that she was a fifth year. She looked so tiny. She didn’t look old enough to be a war survivor. But, then again, most of those who fought in the war shouldn’t have been old enough to be war survivors.

“I knew,” she began, slowing choosing each word. “I just knew that if I didn’t go back and fight, I would never forgive myself. I would always _regret_ it. If we had lost, I would have wondered if I could have made a difference in the outcome of the fight. If we had won, I would have wondered if I could have helped save someone who had perished. And I did save someone. There’s a person out there today who wouldn’t be if I hadn’t gone back inside to fight.”

This girl was such a paradox. She was so small for her age yet so wise for her years. “You’re very brave,” Lavender said after a brief silence.

“Thank you,” Astoria replied. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“What do you mean, ‘coming from me’?”

A smile bloomed on Astoria’s face. “You’re a Gryffindor, right? Bravery comes along with the package. I had to work hard to be brave. I don’t have it naturally.”

Lavender paused, thinking about everything that had happened, everything she had felt. She definitely didn’t feel naturally brave. She didn’t even know if she had it in herself to find bravery anymore.

“Bravery’s not so easy for Gryffindors sometimes, either.”


End file.
